


Taken

by Jaune_Chat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bondage, F/M, Impact Play, Kidnapping, Kink Negotiation, Riding Crops, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 22:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3398030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/pseuds/Jaune_Chat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has a kidnap fantasy....being a professional Nat is more than willing to help!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hanorganaas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanorganaas/gifts).



> Written for a prompt on [comment_fic](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/595562.html?thread=83158122#t83158122).

He never saw her coming.

And that was good, that was absolutely _perfect_ , because if he didn't see her, that just meant she was that good, and he had been outwitted by a peer. 

( _It wasn't like he figured out what was going to happen, saw it happening in front of him, raced to stop it, and had been stopped stone cold with his eyes open and no way to prevent Loki from taking him over..._ )

He struggled, and struggled _hard_ , didn't hold back, because he would fight with everything he had to avoid get taken. She really had to work to get the cuffs around his wrists, the heavy magnetic ones she had borrowed from Steve (why he had them, no one would ever ask), and get enough leverage to trip him to the floor. It stunned him for a moment, long enough for her to be able to get a tranquilizer in his system.

He doesn't fully lose consciousness as much as just went limp and fuzzy. If this were real, she would have never used such a half-ass dose on him, not wanting him to have any information that she hadn't given him. But a full dose would have been too dangerous in event of a sudden need to Assemble, and really awkward to explain to Fury to boot. 

( _This was better too, stumbling through the corridors because he had no choice but to go where she wanted when he was like this, instead of utterly confident in what he needed to do to achieve Loki's goals, and damn the consequences. And damn him..._ )

She tumbled him down on the floor of a spare room, locking the door behind her. He thrashed feebly in his bonds, and she pounced on him to get him into a chair and immobilized with ropes around his wrists. He was secure, safe from all help, and it was only then that she administered the counteragent that left him wide awake and alert.

Natasha looked down at him, frankly assessing like he was something who was about to be sold. She was wearing the last outfit he remembered her wearing before she'd gone over to SHIELD, and looked as cold as ice.

“No one will hear you,” she said, leaning down so he could look her straight in the eyes. “It's just you and me. If you give me what I want, maybe I'll give you your life. If you give me good enough information, I might give you something of what you want too. What's it going to be, Barton?”

Clint struggled a little, and found his bonds very secure. He wasn't going anywhere. He was entirely in her power, but he could still fight.

“Fuck you,” he spat, half-lunging to the extent that he could. Natasha didn't move, but she moved her head very slightly in relief. 

( _Natasha had laughed her ass off when Clint had told her what he wanted for his “green” word in this scenario. “Oh yeah, that's you all over,” she'd said, grinning._ )

“I doubt you'll get a chance to do that,” she said, and pressed the end of a riding crop under his chin, forcing his head up. His heartbeat revved when he felt the touch of the leather. “Where do you think you are? You're nowhere anyone is going to hear you, anyone who's going to interfere. You could yell and scream all afternoon and no one would help you.”

“What makes you think I'm going to scream for you?” Clint asked, leaning back in his bonds so he looked as casual as possible. “Maybe I'll just take a nap if you're going to go with this bullshit.”

In two swift motions, Natasha lashed him with the riding crop through his thin t-shirt, and while he was gasping with the sudden assault, came around and tied a length of fabric over his eyes. 

“How much bullshit is this?” she asked, walking back around to run the tip of the crop down the center of his chest, sparking more pain.

“Plenty, because you let me see your face before you blindfolded me, not exactly a smart move-”

The crop came down lightly on his nipple, stinging fiercely. “Fuck!” he said softly, jerking his head back to try to see her.

“How much bullshit _is this?_ ” she repeated, and didn't sound amused at all. Clint swung his head side to side in the relative darkness, disoriented and trying to find her and figure out what she was going to do next. His pulse thrummed through his whole body, and his skin tingled. 

He couldn't see her, had had his best asset taken away, but he could still fight, still defy her. His mind was his own and he could decide what to do.

“Talk, Barton, or the next strike lays open your pretty face,” she warned. “The one after that goes on your balls.”

“Always knew you were a ball-buster, Romanov.” The words came out of him unbidden, and he felt Natasha grab the collar of his shirt to shake him, mostly to hide the stifled mirth he could hear under her mock-anger. The crop slapped down, the breeze passing his face as it struck the back of the chair, and he knew if he bent any more rules she was going to safeword out until he got his shit together.

“Fuck you,” he spat, and she let go of his collar to start binding his feet apart. She put the handle of the crop up against his crotch in warning of the consequences, but she still had to work to get him how she wanted him. It cost him two more swats across the chest and one light one on his inner thigh that still stung like a sonofabitch through his jeans before he was staked out. He was more vulnerable now, and there was a growing problem between his thighs that she couldn't possibly have missed.

He could barely see her, barely move, didn't know where he was, or when she would let him go, if ever. He put his head back for a moment, and then back up again, trying to track her and guess what her next move would be.

“Your target. Tell me,” she said.

He shook his head, grinning into the dark. “Hell no.”

“Consequences, Barton.”

He stiffened as a knife touched the skin of his stomach above his waistband, and went completely rigid as it sliced through the denim with an ease that meant it was lethally sharp. She paused after a few inches, and withdrew the blade, inserting the crop under his chin again.

“Going to talk now?”

“No, I'm not!”

The crop dropped abruptly as he called his yellow word and Clint heard her walk away, a faint metallic clink sound from setting the knife down on a table clearly audible. He tried to calm his breathing, pulling himself back from the brink as something unexpected surfaced.

( _The sharp touch of Loki's scepter against his chest, seeming to pierce deep, deeper than it had the right to, deep enough to touch his soul, deep enough to put a hole in him and suck every vestige of free will out of him forever..._ )

Natasha returned quickly and took off the blindfold, leaning close to his ear.

“Knife?” she whispered.

“Too sharp, pierced...” he trailed off, jerking his chin towards his chest.

“Got it. Want to stop?”

He felt a little calmer now, vision back, a little more in the right kind of control, and nodded. “Fuck you,” he said.

She cracked her hand across his face in an open-handed slap, more noise than pain, but it brought him back to where they were trying to go. He reeled from the slap and she pushed his hips up, sliding his jeans off his ass and thighs. 

“You remember how this is going to go,” she warned, her hand dropping to the front of his boxers. He was throbbing now, hard and needy, bound and defiant, and he sort of wished their roles would let him kiss her right now. Natasha looked down at him, and slapped him again, a little softer, right over his mouth.

A kiss with a fist. Clint's heart swelled with love as he smiled at her, a smirk of a smile, but with something much softer in his eyes. She gave him the tiniest ghost of a grin before going businesslike again, straddling his thighs and rubbing up against him.

“I could play this game for days, Barton. Bring you up, then slap you down again until you wouldn't even be able to tell the difference between pain and pleasure. Tell me what I want to know about your target.” She paused, arms around Clint's shoulders, and he felt the cool, blunt press of a gun barrel pressing into the side of his head. “Or we'll find more games to play.”

It probably said something about Clint's psyche that he got even harder from that. Luckily Clint made a point of never reading his own psych reports.

“She's a Russian spy,” he said, and Natasha's head quirked, his captor showing surprise. “She was trained from childhood to be the perfect spy and assassin, able to infiltrate anywhere. She's beautiful, she's deadly, and SHIELD wants me to kill her.”

“Are you?” she asked.

Clint leaned up a little, feeling the heat of Natasha's body as one of her hands reached between them to cup his aching erection.

“I want to give her a second chance.”

With a few more clever motions, Clint was free of his boxers, and he could feel the warm moisture of Natasha closer against him, driving him to the edge of control. His hands tugged hard against the bonds, but he couldn't break them.

“Why?”

He was breathing hard, and the gun barrel was pressing very firmly into his temple.

“Because she deserves it,” he said, and broke into a moan as Natasha raised herself up and sank down on him. She was wet, almost dripping, and felt like heaven around Clint. She had both of her hands on his shoulders as he tugged hard on the ropes, and neither of them were going to last. Natasha gasped first, sounding surprised at herself, and Clint groaned as the gun dropped from her hands, and buried himself to the hilt as his orgasm overtook him.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered into her shoulder. “Fuck. Fuck, thank you.”

Natasha cradled his head and stroked his hair, one hand going to tug his bonds free so he could hold her.

“Okay?” she murmured, lifting his head up to look into his eyes, brushing away the faint redness from her slap.

“Okay,” he said, and smiled at her. “I like it when our first meeting ends like this.”

“Better than me kicking you in the balls and then you tranq-arrowing me into submission so I'd actually listen?”

( _Better than Loki, by as many miles as Clint could see._ )

He chuckled and nodded, and leaned up to kiss her, meeting her halfway.


End file.
